


Goodnight

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, HYDRA Husbands, Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:45:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Maybe we should get Induction Cooktops?For the safehouses.Squinting at Brock’s message, he thinks about where the hell that came from as he hovers thumbs over the keys.Get off the late night shopping networks and go to fucking bed.





	Goodnight

Jack’s been staring at nothing on the dark ceiling of his bedroom for the past 20 minutes with an arm tucked under his head when his phone softly vibrates face down against the side table surface and his eyes glance over to it. A few seconds pass and it does it again. 

He’s pretty sure he knows who it is, reaching for it and giving himself a second before he stares at digital numbers telling him it’s 4:07 AM and yep, he was right.

_**Maybe we should get Induction Cooktops?**_

_**For the safehouses.**_

Squinting at Brock’s message, he thinks about where the hell that came from as he hovers thumbs over the keys.

_**Get off the late night shopping networks and go to fucking bed.**_

He puts his phone back on the nightstand the same way he picked it up and rolls over onto his side to turn his back to it. Generally Brock is either drunk at this point or exhausted, easily distracted by the next shiny new gadget popping up on the screen. He doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t get a box of frozen steaks at his door from overnight delivery and a courier banging on his door like they’re the fucking cops. He has a gun, a few, they _really_ shouldn’t startle him the hell awake. If Brock wants to waste his money on idiotic contraptions and super deals, he can do it by himself and let him get some rest.

When Beastie Boys starts playing from his phone, Jack wishes he turned the fucking thing off. He can’t even remember why that’s Brock’s ringtone anymore or why he’s even bothering to call this late. He pauses to exhale unhappily and knows he won’t be getting any rest despite the fact he was already laying awake in the dark. It’s the principle of the matter.

Rolling over to face the other way, he answers it on speaker and leaves it sitting beside him on the pillow, “Yes?”

“Why’re ya ‘wake?”

Jack could hear the soft slur of Brock’s speech, not drunk, only way too tired and on some level of autopilot. It’s actually a good question too, Jack can generally sleep very well anywhere he’s put. He’s learned to do it standing up even. “I’m investigating how hostile I can be if I don’t sleep.”

“You’re an asshole either way, you’ll jus get twitchy. People don’t like twitchy, Rollins.” Brock says rather clearly and matter of fact, so sure of it.

He knows it’s true and doesn’t argue about it, instead he lays there in silence slowly going back to what he was originally thinking about before Brock had even called. 

“Brock?”

Brock grumbles in the phone, it’s gentle and comfortable, the way he sounds when he’s trying to sleep but really he’s only resting his eyes. He’s all ears for Jack and the call is so clear he sounds like he’s lying right next to him, laid out flat on his back with his arms folded loosely over his chest when he can’t get comfortable in godawful cots and they whisper to each other into the night side by side instead. The whole situation seems so intimate and private all of a sudden.

“If we didn’t join SHIELD, what would you do instead?”

“Remember that one mission you forced me to wear those fuckin’ rainbow colored bikini briefs and dance on stage with Rogers beside me, both of us awkward as fuck? Think I would try that again.”

Brock’s response had been so immediate that Jack wondered how long he had actually been thinking about this. An answer so random to a question he had no answer himself for.

“At least it was amateur night and Rogers looked like a deer in headlights.”

“He wasn’t awful, neither were you. Moves were a little stiff but it worked in your favor. You were complaining non-stop after though, told me to go die more than your allotted quota.”

“It was still an asshole decision that I don’t know how ya got to decide but, all I needed were a coupla gals in my corner to make a killin’.”

Jack has to laugh at that. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve secretly always wanted to be a male stripper?” 

“Hey, I might have a routine I’ve been practicin’. I could show it to ya, all you’d havta do is sit on a chair and keep yer damn hands to yerself, Rollins.” Brock drawled, so casual he might as well have been ordering a pizza. “A private dance. No charge, Sweetheart.”

Jack can’t help the way he breaks out in a stupid grin, dropping a hand against his eyes and letting it drag down his face slowly just before it rests against his chin, “Jesus Christ, never know what’ll come outta that mouth of yours. Didn’t know I was even that special.”

Brock makes that familiar and comfortable grumble again, he must be slowly falling asleep. 

He lets his own eyes close, blanket tugged upwards against his chest as he lingers around Brock’s own brand of earnest affection, the words settling around him. There’s something to be said about certain people that get along so well that it’s not really a hazard to text about stupid products on sale in the middle of the early morning when they’re both oddly awake. Sometimes they’ll say things to each other that seem unnecessarily cruel, but no matter what it is they always end up finding one another again. There’s a happiness in that, a warmth that always lingers.

“I love you Jack.” 

He almost misses it, seconds from losing everything to sleep as he drifts off but he manages to grab hold and wake up just enough to feel that Brock’s conscious and means it. He always does when he says those words, few and far but just as important as the first time because the world is carried in them, surrounded by the beat of his heart. It always takes a moment for Jack to realize he’s projected again, never in words so he doesn’t know how it happens, especially over a phone conversation, that tells Brock what he needs but also that Brock gives it to him. He just _knows_ , enough to assure and placate him that he’s not going anywhere. There is nothing like it in the world and they both fit so perfectly that the instinct of it is so natural.

Staring at the phone, Jack imagines Brock laid out and looking back at him, he misses him fiercely and does so much to forget that he does. He’ll be back soon and he waits impatiently. “I love you too, Brock. Goodnight.”

His eyes slip closed again and he’s finally ready to take his rest, Brock yawning against the phone and it’s a sound Jack finds relief in.

“Night.”


End file.
